


Date Night

by potionsmaster



Series: How I Met Your Father [3]
Category: Mass Effect, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Alternative title is: Mark Gets Mind-Fucked Night, Armax Arena, But not in the bedroom sense, Combat Simulator, Domestic Fluff, Drop the Bass, Enjoy the giggle-fest, F/M, Family Dinners, Hero Worship, Home, I Don't Even Know, Innuendo, Just Desserts, M/M, Meet Your Heroes, Meet the Family, Meeting the Parents, Music, No Smut, Priority: Food, They put the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional', Whipped Cream, batshit insanity, if a story can be a shitpost, life at home, sorry - Freeform, stupidly awkward situations, this story is a shitpost, why am i like this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 10:27:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28349874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potionsmaster/pseuds/potionsmaster
Summary: Cassie brings her boyfriend home to meet her fathers, lol. It goes about as well as she expects, all things considered
Relationships: Kaidan Alenko & daughter, Kaidan Alenko/Male Shepard, OC Shepard's daughter/OC, male shepard & daughter
Series: How I Met Your Father [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1921438
Comments: 44
Kudos: 24





	1. Dead Dove, Don't Eat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RachelAMorph54](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RachelAMorph54/gifts).



> I know I haven't posted anything to the current How I Met Your Father story in a couple of weeks, BUT! This is what's been taking my attention, and I hope it's acceptable as a substitute, lol. A little sidebar situation in the universe that developed a plot thanks to Miss Rachel A Morph, dammit, and now’s it turned into a ‘let’s see exactly how much absolutely ridiculous domestic fluff shit I can cram in here.’ (Also, I took a few liberties with the Arena.) So here it is! Enjoy the fluff and giggles. Happy Holidays! <3
> 
> [Here's the playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLeMvomTv93bemEg4eMVUHW3n2abcsECpD)

**_Date Night,_ ** by potionsmaster for RachelAMorph54

Rating: M for implied sexual situations and game level violence

* * *

  
  


“Are you sure they’re gonna be cool with me?” 

I smile to myself as I turn from the window of the skycar, neon lights of the Wards on the Citadel tracing through the darkness like fireflies in the night, and I squeeze Brandon’s hand reassuringly. 

_“Yes,_ goof. They knew at some point or other in my life I would wind up with a boyfriend.”

“Doesn’t mean they have to _like_ it,” he mutters, looking sullenly out his own window.

“Hey…” I tug on his hand, catching his gaze and giving him what I hope is an encouraging grin. “Stop overthinking it. They want to meet you; plain and simple. Nothing more than that. It’ll be fine.”

“Says you,” he grumbles back, hiding a grin as he presses a kiss to my hair. I cuddle into him, enjoying the closeness for a few minutes.

“Oh! We’re almost there,” I exclaim, sitting up. The sign for Tiberius Towers is in the rapidly shrinking distance, the building itself rising up from the riot of colors.

“Where…?” Brandon leans over my shoulder, resting his chin on it as we look and I point.

“There.”

“Oh. _Oh…_ I… really? Wow…”

“What?”

“I just… didn’t expect it. I knew you said your family was well off, but… _damn,_ I didn’t know exactly _how_ well off.”

“Well…” I toy with my sleeve cuffs. “I _did_ say we were well off, and I dunno if you remember, but I _also_ said they were kinda-sorta-maybe recognizable...?”

“How recognizable are we talking, here?” he asked, incredulously looking at me as the skycar landed outside the building lobby on the strip. I carefully keep looking ahead as we enter the lobby. The asari manning the desk cheerfully wave hello and say _welcome back, Cassie! So good to see you again!_ as we walk past and make our way to the private elevator in the back. I wave my omni-tool over the lock. ‘Shepard-Alenko’ is inscribed above it in small, neat, understated but elegant script on the nameplate and Brandon’s jaw drops when he sees it. “Holy _shit!”_

I slug him on his bicep and he throws up his arms defensively, laughing. “You _know_ my last name is Shepard! What the damn _hell?”_ I punch him gently again for good measure and he playfully tries to pin my arms. 

“I mean... I dunno, I thought it might have been a political somebody I wasn’t familiar with, but is a bigwig, or like, a business CEO or something. Geez, now I don’t want to try to wrestle you or anything anymore; they probably taught you how to kill someone with whatever’s lying around.”

“Wellll,” I tease, wrapping my arms around his middle and kissing the tip of his nose. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are bright; I have no idea if he’s actually embarrassed or is putting on a front. “You’re not exactly wrong? But I like ya. And you’re cute. So there’s that…” I pinch his ribs gently, trying to tickle him and he gets me back as well as he can. I like being able to be silly with him; it’s easy and familiar. The elevator stops and we fall into silence, taking in the view in the short hallway to the front door. I unlock the door and Brandon’s jaw drops again at the expansive room before us. 

A small, spherical drone floats towards us. “Hey, Mrs. Hudson,” I say. Brandon just glances between me and it.

“...Mrs. Hudson?”

_“Welcome home, Cassie. Your father says there are snacks and drinks in the refrigerator for you and your guest, and to please make yourselves at home.”_

Brandon looks incredulously at the drone as I gesture him forward into the apartment. “Yeah, Papa has a kind of old-fashioned sense of humor sometimes. C’mon, let’s go put our bags up and I’ll show you around.” I grab his hand and we make our way past the piano. 

“Holy _shit…”_ he mumbles, gaping at the floor to ceiling windows looking over the strip and on level with skycars, the wraparound fireplace, the den with the wet bar. “What _even…”_

“It’s for entertaining people, in short,” I explain. “Dad kinda inherited it? And Papa finds it useful for work functions; he has a lot of ‘networking parties’ and stuff. Boring shit.” 

Brandon gets about a quarter of the way up the second set of stairs to the first landing before he glances off to the right and sees the other wet bar and poker table. “Hold up,” he says, dropping his bag and backtracking to explore. I shake my head and follow a few steps behind him. “They have a game table, too? Aw, _man…_ you and me should play strip poker at it at some point.” He ran his hands reverently over the felt and I wrinkle my nose.

“Uh...maybe after it’s been steam cleaned or something. I dunno the last time it was used, and from what I understand, Dad used to throw some ragers for his crew back in the day.” He looks up at me, face an ‘o’ of surprise. “I bet Vega’s bare ass has been _all_ over it.”

“What?”

I nod toward one of the many pictures on the bookshelves behind the desk off to the side in the office area. “Vega? He was a marine who was part of the crew of _the Normandy._ Dad threw parties for them to kick back sometimes? From what he and Papa said, they were pretty raucous, as soldiers are wont to be like.” Brandon moves to the shelves and picks up one of the frames, studying the smiling faces. 

“Whoa...that’s, like. Something that you think you’d only see in a museum,” he says, “Who’s this?” He points to one of the people on the couch and I shrug, wrapping my arms around his and resting my chin on his shoulder. Sometimes I get the feeling he doesn’t necessarily like that I’m tall enough to do that, but oh well.

“Cortez? I dunno. Mrs. Hudson? Do you know who that is?” The VI drone floats over and startles him.

_“That is Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau, though the crew call him Joker.”_

Brandon tips his head to lean on mine and points to my fathers gazing at each other affectionately in it. “This is them?”

“Yeah.”

“So which one is your actual dad?” He moves away from me, replacing it on the shelf and perusing the other photos and memorabilia. I furrow my brows and straighten the frame, trying to think of how to answer that. 

“What do you mean? They both are,” I finally reply. 

“Like… which one _actually…”_ He waffles his hands through the air, wincing apologetically as he gestures to more pictures of them both. “You don’t really look like Shepard, is what I’m saying. Except you’re, y’know. Tall.”

_“Major Alenko is Cassie’s biological father.”_

“That’s not… I mean… thanks, Mrs. Hudson,” I sigh in resigned frustration. It’s a sticky question, and one I really don’t like people asking. I understand people’s curiosity about it, because good lord, it’s a weird situation for sure, but... frustrating all at once. 

_“You’re welcome, Cassie. If there’s anything else I can assist with, please let me know.”_

“You’ve helped enough,” I mutter. “Stupid drone…”

_“You seem distressed. Perhaps a cup of tea would help? Or some music?”_ Mrs. Hudson bobs unconcernedly in the air.

I cross my arms in front of my chest. “Is this a normal part of your routine? Placating people grumpy with you?”

_“Major Shepard regularly expresses frustration towards me during his visits. Major Alenko has put a few subroutines in my programming in response.”_

I snicker to myself; that sounds like Dad. He’s not the most patient with technological things; Papa typically has to step in and smooth things over. 

“Are you _sure_ they’re going to be ok with me?” Brandon nervously cuts in. Concern wrinkles his forehead. I guess I can understand his apprehension; their exploits are known throughout the galaxy, and things that crossed their path in a bad way ended up paying for it. Saviors of the Milky Way indeed. 

“Stop worrying,” I say, going to him and putting my arms around him. He wraps his arms around me a minute later. “I promise, it will be _fine._ Worst comes to worst, Dad might challenge you to a head-to-head match in the Arena down on the strip. All you have to do to earn his respect is beat ‘im.” Brandon pales at that and I laugh. “I’m kidding! ...Mostly.”

“I don’t want to get shot!”

_“You seem distressed. Perhaps a cup of tea would help? Or some music?”_ Mrs. Hudson turns towards Brandon and I can’t help but laugh. I’ll have to tease Papa about his humor heuristic program choices. 

“You _won’t_ get shot, it’ll just _feel_ like you got shot,” I tease, kissing the tip of his nose again as I tuck my hands in his back pockets. “It’s all holographs and mild concussive rounds. It’s not real. I can tell you from experience.”

“Because of course you can,” he grumbles good-naturedly, giving me a peck back. The drone floats next to us, patiently waiting. “Because why would they _not_ drag you in a combat simulator; yeah, sure, that’s exactly what I’d do with my kid. How about some music, Mrs. Hudson? That sounds good. Maybe it’ll distract me enough to relax.” 

_“What would you like to listen to? I have extensive libraries and collections to choose from.”_

I look at Brandon, asking without words, and he shrugs at me. I shrug back. “I don’t care; whatever was played last.”

_“Starting playlist ‘Date Night’. Let me know if there’s anything else I can assist with.”_

The drone moves off and leaves us alone again. A somewhat sappy song starts playing in the background and I tune it out; it’s pleasant and has piano in it with a soft female voice breathily crooning, then the bass drops and the mellow vibe is set. I like it, much as I roll my eyes about it. Dad puts on a gruff front out in public, but behind closed doors he’s a teddy bear; it’s a bit of a mind fuck if you’re not expecting it. It amuses Papa quite a bit, but he keeps the charade up. Something about it helping him get more things done quickly for his work. An unhappy Shepard isn’t something anybody should want to tangle with, after all. At least, it isn’t according to Spectre Vakarian.

“So where’re we staying? The bedroom we passed on the way here?” Brandon asks, tossing his thumb in the direction of the door.

“No,” I sigh, letting him go and straightening the shelf of frames one last time before heading back to the stairs. “That’s the guest room, but it’s also the work-out room. Unless you want to be woken up at oh-four hundred by the bag getting hit, anyway. No judgement if you do. By all means. You’ll be staying with me in mine otherwise.” We pick up our bags and make our way up the stairs, Brandon taking in the decorations and view from the windows with wide eyes. 

“Ho-ly… I can’t believe they have a mini _art_ gallery.” He nods towards the alcove overhanging the great room with the turian sculpture and large abstract paintings.

“Yeah… Dad says it came with the place, and he didn’t know how much he would appreciate it until he got it. He’s got a degree for that kind of thing, funnily enough.”

Brandon gives me a weird look as we pass through the sunken living room and more book shelves. “Really? The legendary Commander Shepard, first human Spectre and savior of the galaxy as we know it, has an _art_ degree?” The tempo of the music picks up a bit as the song changes. The lyrics say something about ‘if I had you, that would be the only thing I ever need,’ and I ignore them. Still sappy as shit, but more upbeat, at least. 

“‘Visual Culture’, actually,” I correct, quoting the words in the air with my fingers. “Says it came in handy with talking to other races in the galaxy.”

_“Huh…”_ he says. “Who’d have thought?”

“I mean, I can see his point. If he’s got a working knowledge of some cultural aspects, he can use it for negotiating and leverage. Right?” 

Brandon furrows his brows again as he drops his bag next to my desk in the bedroom. “I guess. All the vids and stuff I’ve seen about…” he flailed his hands in the air, ears turning red, “...yeah. _You_ know. And the war and whatnot more highlighted the, uh. The fighting aspect. I didn’t think he was that involved in the politics of everything with the treaties and all. I thought they basically gave him a gun, said ‘go’, and there he went. Spectre and N7 and all…”

I laugh a little. “I mean, that’s not _all_ there is to being military. Papa’s far more political than Dad is, and _he’s_ also military.” 

“Yeah, and they’re both Spectres, too. I’m dead. All I have to do is breathe wrong, and I’m fucking dead.”

“You are _not_ gonna be dead. If anything, they’re more likely to bitch if you don’t like their cooking than anything else. _Relax._ Please…” 

He sighs and pulls me to him in a hug. “You’re right; I’m sorry. It’s freaking me out, and I just… I’m sorry.”

“Anything I can do to help you chill?” I ask suggestively, walking a couple fingers up his arm before wrapping my arms around his neck. Some R&B singer is now crooning about falling in love again on a dance floor and it’s hard not to move with the rhythm. His green eyes get a heated look in them and he tilts his head to the side.

“Possibly. Though… when are they expected home?”

“I dunno. Papa’s at work, but Dad’s on leave, so I don’t actually know. _That’d_ be a helluva thing, heh. Your first introduction to one of ‘em is us in a _compromising_ situation…”

His cheeks flush at the thought. “Oh, god, please, no. They seriously would kill me. Could we not?”

“Heh. So, if that’s off the table, what do you think you want to do until they get back?”

He looks around my room, tucking his hands in my jeans pockets and holding me close. “I dunno, what is there to do?”

“Hm. Well, there’s books, there’s vids, there’s games… could go raid the kitchen,” I supply, cuddling close to him. “Could always go look at more stuff from the war if you wanted; you seemed interested in it.” Brandon’s cheeks get a little pink again and I grin. “Winner, winner?”

“I mean… I don’t want to weird you out, but… I literally grew up following their careers and the war and stuff. I’m still trying to process the fact that they’re, y’know, _your parents._ Talk about a blind-side.”

“Sure, I get that. But, like. They’re not gods or anything. They’re actual _people._ They have lives.”

“Still a mind fuck,” he mumbles, ducking his head a little. 

I look at him, rolling my lips inwards like Papa does when he’s considering something. “...I bet we could probably dig up something cool, memorabilia-wise. Something other people don’t get to see.”

“What… like… like _armor?_ Or… what?”

“I mean, I don’t think they have armor here,” I laugh. “I think that stays on base in storage if they’re not deployed in a hot zone. Though sometimes it certainly seems like they’d need it. I dunno. We’d have to look. Why?”

He has the grace to look embarrassed again, poor guy. “I may or may not have made a set of N7 armor out of cardboard when I was younger, because I wanted to be like him.” The admission is soft and barely heard over the music.

“Aw! Babe! That’s kind of adorable. Maybe he does have some here, I dunno. And maybe we can even get a holo of you with it. For old times’ sake. C’mon.” I take his hand, pulling him past the sunken living room again and into their room. His eyes widen in disbelief. 

“Cassie, no! Are… are we even allowed to be in here?” he whispers, looking over his shoulder. I scoff and pull him again, going into their closet. The music has a steady, thumping throb to the bass now, but it’s muffled. 

“Can’t see why we wouldn’t be,” I retort, dropping his hand and looking around at the racks and shelves. Dad’s shoebox of memories from Mindoir is tucked up in the far corner and I leave that be; it’s not my place to put his private life on display _quite_ like that. I’m hoping to find a footlocker he or Papa has with personal effects that are decommissioned from the war, bits and bobs, weapons scopes, knives, face masks, or things of that nature. “I mean, if you want, I can pull one of his dress mess tunics and you can wear that for haha’s…” I rifle through his side of the closet, brow furrowed. “Though if not, I can let you borrow my hoodie; it used to be his.” I hand him a garment.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear it,” Brandon grunts in response as he tries on the tunic to Dad’s dress blues. It’s a little big in the shoulders, as expected, and the only reason the waist buttons is because Brandon’s smaller than Dad overall, but seeing his face light up with glee at wearing it is something special. I tell him to stand up straight and tall, and take a holo of him in it with my omni-tool, the N7 and pins standing out in stark contrast to the navy blue of the stiff cloth. 

“Lookin’ good, Commander!” I tease, taking a few more before showing him the ones I took, and then we hear it.

“Kaid…? Wasn’t expectin’ you home so early. What’s with the music? Got somethin’ on your mind, maybe? Cas is supposed to be here soon; I dunno, heh, d’you think there’s enough time?”

Brandon and I freeze, looking at each other with dawning comprehension as Dad’s voice floats up the stairs to us. I realize too late what’s happening: the bass is throbbing in the background, lyrics murmuring about _got everybody watching us, so baby let’s keep the secret, a little bit scandalous, but baby don’t let them see it, a little less conversation, a little more touch my body, ‘cuz I’m so into you,_ the tone of Dad’s voice, and it all just fucking ‘clicks’. _Fuck._ I clutch Brandon’s arm in panic, trying to get out of their space before the inevitable and manage to take all of two steps before his large form is blocking the only exit and the full horror of the situation comes to light. Dad is in his socks, hoodie tossed and forgotten on the floor next to the door, and he’s in process of untucking his t-shirt when he stops short. We’re face to face and I want to drop through the floor.

“Ha… _you’re_ not Kaidan,” he deadpans, ears bright red as he drops the hem of his shirt. _“Hi_ there. Welcome home, Monkey. What, ah. Whatcha _doin’_ in here? Hm?”

“Hey, Dad!” I squeak, deliberately keeping my eyes on his face and increasing my death grip on Brandon’s arm. “Just showing him a few things! We’ll be out of your space in a minute!” Dad quirks an eyebrow, sharp blue eyes sweeping over us and taking in his dress uniform on my boyfriend.

“Uncool, babydoll.” He deftly picks up one of the pillows off the bed and whaps me with it as we scamper out of the way. “Gimme back my uniform, ya heathens. What the _damn_ hell…”

I shriek and dash away as he swings the pillow at me again and chases us out into the area outside the landing of the stairs, ears still pink and grin splitting his face. Brandon simply stares, bouncing between looking at me and Dad as he’s trying to process it all. Dad tosses the pillow gently in my face and gets me in a loose headlock, giving me a noogie.

“DAAAAAAAAAAAAAD! Oh my gawwwwwwwwwwd, _stop!”_ I protest, pinching at his ribs to tickle him. He flinches and lets me go, deftly sidestepping my hands.

“Quit, brat. You’re terrible, heh. This your beau?” he snorts, gesturing to him. I huff in affectionate exasperation and try to straighten my now mussed up hair. 

“Yeah.”

“Nice to meetcha. Circumstances notwithstandin’,” Dad says, offering a hand. Brandon blinks and cautiously takes it. “But I _will_ say, it’s a little weird you’re in my uniform.” They shake hands and a woman singing about _you’re the one I like, like, like, like, come put your body on mine, mine, mine, mine, keep it up all night, night, night, night, all night, give me mad love, don’t let me down_ fills the silence. “Mrs. Hudson, stop playlist,” Dad snaps, pursing his lips as Brandon raises his eyebrows at me. “How, uh, how far down that one did you get, Monkey?” He feigns nonchalance.

“Just as far as right now,” I say, pressing my own lips together to stop myself from laughing. He nods as the drone floats up and bobs next to us.

_“You seem distressed, Major Shepard. Perhaps a cup of tea would help? Or some music?”_

_“Verpiss dich, dumme Drohne[1]._ I’m pretty damn sure more music would not help at the moment,” he glowers at it. I stifle a giggle and he fixes me with a ‘look’, snapping his fingers and gesturing at Brandon to give him back his tunic. He immediately shucks it off and hands it sheepishly to Dad.

_“I’ll start the kettle for a cup of tea.”_ The drone starts floating off and Dad calls it back.

“You will _not,_ no _thanks,_ I am _fine,”_ he grouses. “Unless either of you two are so traumatized y’all need somethin’ to drink in order to forget, though I suspect booze might help better than boiled leaf water.” I can’t help it; I burst into giggles, much to Brandon’s confused embarrassment. He disappears back into his and Papa’s room, shaking out imagined wrinkles from his tunic, and comes back in a moment, pausing by the door to scoop his hoodie off the floor. We all make our way downstairs again, the fire cheerfully crackling away.

“I got an email from the Arena earlier today, by the way,” he says. “One of the slots for tonight is open; the team that had it reserved had to cancel. You guys want in? Kill some time before dinner? I know I’ve got some energy to burn now.”

Brandon shoots me a worried look and Dad catches it, suppressing a snort.

“Co-op, not PvP. No way in hell I’d subject you to that right out the gate, heh.” Brandon relaxes at the specification and I shrug at him.

“Your call. Doesn’t matter to me,” I reassure him.

“Yeah… yeah, ok,” he says cautiously, looking between Dad and me.

“Well, alright, then,” Dad replies, patented half-grin on his face. “Go change into shorts and a tank under your civvies, then let’s get goin’.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Glossary:_
> 
> [1]Verpiss dich, dumme Drohne - fuck off, stupid drone


	2. What The Damn Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Into the Arena they go. Poor Brandon, hehe. He's about to find out what it's actually like to have Shepard in the family

**_Date Night,_ **by potionsmaster for RachelAMorph54

Rating: M for implied sexual situations and game level violence

* * *

The spectator area is loud and crowded, Brandon craning his neck to gawk as Dad registers us. “Cas. What d’you want the team name to be?”

“Hellhounds. Duh.” I grin as Dad rolls his eyes and puts it in anyway. Brandon’s face is pale as we make our way below the stands and into the locker area. We stop by the electronic board and Dad checks his inbox. 

“Blah, blah, blah, fan mail, match requests, sponsorship shit… Armax Arsenal says new game option added, no thank _you…_ Aight, cool. Guest pass is registered, waivers signed. Let’s see. What do you feel like fightin?” Dad glances over at us expectantly.

I lean on Brandon, rubbing his arm reassuringly. “Your call.”

“Uh… wh-what about, um. Reapers? No! Geth. I want geth.”

Dad nods along, toggling the option. “Mmkay. I’m gonna make the executive decision and leave all the score multipliers off at the moment. Let you get used to it, then we’ll see if we need to adjust later. Leave ammo drop, leave _medi-gel_ drop, no Reapers, no Cerberus, no Collectors, yes geth, no elites, yes foot soldiers, no… no… no...” Brandon’s eyes grow larger the more Dad mutters to himself and the match interface options scroll across the screen, showing the options he’s choosing. I don’t really blame him; the Reapers creep me the fuck out and I know they’re just holographs. I can’t imagine what it must have been like to fight them in reality. “Team selection… Kaid, no, Cas, yes, guest, yes. _Ha.”_ Bass starts pounding on the floor above us as they start announcing upcoming matches and he tosses a glance up at the ceiling, half-grin slowly spreading. “Half hour warnin’ to kit up and prep. I suggest you stretch. Be a real bitch if you pull somethin’ running.”

“I want drones,” I say as we move to the lockers; I hope my armor still fits. Dad nods in agreement.

“If you have ‘em unlocked for your omni-tool, do it up, but I’d suggest concentratin’ on EMPs, direct or when the drones dissipate. I need tech to take down shields, since your father’s not in on this one. C’mere, Brandon. We gotta get you outfitted. How tall are you?” 

He meekly goes over to Dad. “Uh… 5’11”?” Dad scrutinizes him a bit, then digs into his locker, pulling out Papa’s under-armor and gear. I shoot a grin at my boyfriend, sticking my tongue out at him as I struggle into my under-armor. 

“Aight, that’ll work. You should fit Kaid’s alright; he’s about your height. Here.” He shoves Papa’s under-armor at Brandon and I can see the nerves playing over his face as they both suit up. Dad helps him lock on the plates, chewing his bottom lip as he adjusts straps and seals for a tight fit. He hits a button on the blue armor’s gauntlet and the omni-tool pops out, interface glowing orange. “Hit this here for menu interface if you want to use tech, this one _here-”_ the blade unsheathes, Brandon’s jaw dropping- “for the blade. Stick ‘em with the pointy end, keep yourself out of the way. It’s not an actual one, but it’ll still fuck you up if you’re not careful. I’m switchin’ out the sim card, too, so you don’t screw up his kill count, heh. Nothin’ against you or your skill, but I’ll never hear the end of it otherwise if I don’t put the guest profile on.” He steps back, looking Brandon over with a critical eye. 

“Lookin’ good, baby!” I gush, unable to keep the grin from splitting my face. Brandon looks pretty handsome in the Alliance blue with pinstripes, I have to say. I get the appeal. My hair fights me as I try to pull it back and Dad elbows me. 

“Now that he’s situated, how’s you? Need help?” 

“No, I’m alright, I just need to- _ow!_ Crap.” I wince as my hair elastic snaps on my hand. Dad moves me in front of him and moves my head facing straight ahead. Brandon raises his eyebrows at it and I stick my tongue at him again.

“Don’t move.” He quickly French braids my hair, lightly slapping my arm for the hair tie and I hand it to him, Brandon shaking his head and laughing to himself, incredulous. 

“What…?” I grin back, cheeks getting warm.

“You’re such a daddy’s girl,” he chuckles, “And it’s just funny to see, what with… _this.”_

“What?”

_“All_ of this! Just.. THIS!” Brandon waffles his hands through the air, gesturing to me and Dad.

“I mean. I’d braid _your_ hair, too, if you needed me to. Gotta make sure it fits under the helmet and all…” Dad says, plopping my helmet on my head and bops it gently with his fist. He puts on his own and smacks Brandon’s helmet genially upside the head for good measure. “C’mon. Practice area. Time is money; they’re waitin’.”

* * *

  
  
  


Brandon picks up the mechanics of the simulator quickly in the tutorial area, blowing through the practice rounds Dad coaches him through, and his smile through his helmet’s HUD is enough to light up the strip outside the arena. It’s kinda cute; not everyday a person gets to meet their hero, let alone strap on armor and pick up a weapon alongside them. Dad’s omni-tool blazes orange with a message notification and we make our way to the elevator that brings us up through the floor of the field. Brandon pales as we breach the surface and the crowd roars.

“Aight, here we go. This match is for real. Safeties are on, but you can still get hurt if you get tagged. Remember, keep your thermal clips close, reload every chance you get, and if you’re close enough to use your omni-blade, thrust and twist before withdrawal.” Dad pantomimes it as he talks, Brandon’s eyes huge as he drinks it in. “The arena _will_ play music as the match goes on to make it more interestin’ for the crowds; try to block it out as best you can.”

“The same music you have back home?” I gleefully interrupt. “Because if you wanted to put on a show, Dad, _that_ would definitely do it.” 

“Oh, ha _ha,_ Cas,” Dad rolls his eyes. “No, it’s different. Besides, who’s to say we _haven’t_ already ‘put on that kind of show’? Your father’s a bit of an exhibitionist when he wants to be.” 

“Tee em eyeeeeeeeeeeeeee,” I groan, rolling my own right back at him. 

“You brought it on yourself, Monkey. Though I don’t suggest doin’ an extranet search for that shit; people get, ah. _Creative._ Kinda scary how good some of the renders are, heh. Anyway-” 

I shove him on his shoulder. 

_“Ahh,_ hey! I’ll say again, you asked for it,” he laughs. “Anyway, they have noise dampeners to prevent the crowd and everythin’ from reaching the play field, but it’s not perfect; you can still hear it. It’s just muted.” He pulls his assault rifle from his maglock harness and gestures to the scoreboard hanging over the field. “There’s your timer. My advice? Ignore it for now; it only matters for kill streaks and if we’re doin’ a timed event.” A smooth, mechanical female voice sounds over the loudspeakers. 

_“New combat match. Team Hellhound vs geth foot soldiers. Five… four… three… two… one. Starting round one.”_

A thrill of excitement goes through me as the chime for beginning combat sounds; we spread out and find cover, the holographic opponents taking shape and pressing forward. Brandon pops out of cover and fires a few rounds, felling one of them.

“Keep it up!” Dad encourages, sending a singularity towards the heart of a cluster of them in a spectacular biotic display. Brandon immediately fires at the geth floating around the biotic focal point, deactivating two more.

_“Kill streak,”_ the mechanical lady’s voice says. The scoreboard flashes and catches my attention, a numeric three next to a skull plus a ten second timer bar counting down next to it appears on screen as well as the holographic walls of the combat area. I quickly pop another one off, resetting the timer and the count clicks over to four. I grin and sprint up a ramp to cover and scope in on the next spawn point for the geth. All things considered, the meeting between Dad and Brandon could have gone a lot worse. I can only hope things would continue along that path when he finally meets Papa.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Seven matches in, we’re on a hot streak and we’re upping the difficulty level by increments as Brandon’s comfort with the arena grows. Increased enemy shields, limited thermal clips and medi-gel drop, all for score multipliers, and I can tell Brandon is having an absolute blast. We’re all in a rhythm of spreading out, flanking the enemy and flushing them towards the middle, and picking them off at this point.

“How we doin’? Still good?” Dad asks at the end of the match, pulling up the combat selection interface. “Or crank it up some?”

“I don’t care,” I pant, pulling off my helmet for a small breather. “Any harder, though, and I don’t know how much use I’ll be.” Brandon looks a little dazed through his HUD, glancing between the two of us.

“We could try upping it,” he says cautiously. “I don’t want you to be bored, sir.”

Dad quirks an eyebrow at the honorific. “I’m not as bored as you think; it’s certainly easier than I usually do, but I have a new team member I’m still feelin’ out. If you’re gettin’ tired, we can stop or drop it back down again. That said, uppin’ the difficulty means better revenue drawn in for the charities I play for.”

I lean on Dad’s shoulder, looking on his omni-tool interface. “Boost it, then. I’ll try to support you as much as possible.” Brandon nods in agreement.

“Aight. This’ll probably be rough for you, then. One-shot shields are goin’ on against us, zero medi-gel drops, zero thermal clip drops, elite level opposition, and Cerberus. I’ll _need_ y’all to be on the ball with takin’ out shields so I can fuck ‘em up with biotics.” 

“You sure you don’t want super elite Reapers?” I quip, tapping on them. He bats me away with a scowl and sets it back. 

“You want nightmares and to get tagged immediately, sure. Go for it. I personally could stand to never see another banshee as long as I live; holographic or otherwise.”

“Fiiiiine,” I acquiesce, rolling my eyes playfully. Brandon’s shoulders drop in relief. The scoreboard intermission counter starts ticking down with a minute warning and Dad finalizes the match selections. Shadows in the upper levels increase in the view windows to the stands. It seems that Dad was right; the notifications of the increase in difficulties drew an even bigger crowd.

“Mmkay, this is it, boys and girls.” We make our way to the starting platform to await the countdown.

_“New combat match. Team Hellhound vs Single Player. Unidentified live opponent on the field. Five… four... three… two… one. Starting round one.”_

“Wait, _what?”_ Dad stops short, mechanical tone chiming out over the loudspeakers. Brandon looks at me, eyes wide behind his HUD. “That’s not what I picked at _all._ _Scheisse…”_

“Dad? What… what’s going on?” He’s worried; I can tell. We bypass the starting platform landing and ready our weapons as we duck behind the half wall.

“I dunno, Monkey. Maybe a glitch in the system? Or maybe… I dunno, last time somethin’ like this happened, there was a technical issue with a memory leak in the render system, all the safeties shut off and all the heavies spawned; goddamn mess and a pain in the ass to deal with. At least it told us the ‘feedback levels were lethal’ then. Who knows this time. They nerfed it and made it an actual playable level after that, though. But… this is somethin’ new. Brandon, stay in cover. Cas, I’m gonna need your eyes, babydoll. Keep a low profile, get to high places, stay in cover as much as you can until I know more of what this is doin’. We’ll all be alright. Just… yeah.” He checks his pistol sights before casting a look over the layout. I can see the ‘Commander Shepard’ persona take over in his tone of voice and the change in his stature, like him sinking into a familiar jacket. It’s impressive, to say the least. Brandon must be getting the thrill of a lifetime.

_“LAST_ time?” Brandon squeaks, hunching his shoulders and trying to make himself as small as possible. Maybe ‘thrill’ isn’t the right word. “What do you mean, ‘last time’?”

Dad focuses on an area on the upper level, ignoring him. “I’m just hopin’ it isn’t another assassination attempt. Motion, eleven o’clock. Cas? I need you, for real. I go left, you go right.” I start to slink off and Brandon grabs my bracer.

“I _told_ you I was gonna die,” he hisses, tugging me back. “Safeties off? _Assassination attempt?”_

“No, you’re not. Promise. I gotta go. Stay down, baby. Just gotta survive the round. You can do that. Dad’s not going to let anything happen to you. And neither am I.” I bump my helmet briefly into his and move off; I know it’s nothing like actual battle, but I wonder if this is similar to what they felt during the war before and in combat. At least… I _hope_ it’s nothing like real combat. I fear we’ll soon find out. 

Dad sprints up a ramp and some kind of EMP attack bursts on his heels, making his shield spark, and he slides into cover. The comm crackles to life in my ear. _“Scheisse! Where you at, Monkey? I need a feel for this guy. Stat!”_

“No eyes on them yet,” I reply, “trying to get a vantage point.” 

_“Keep a weather eye. Brandon, you ok?”_

_“Yes, sir!”_ he peeps. _“I-I think I saw the guy move. He went left. And he’s in black armor.”_

That means he’s moving towards Dad and I’m coming up behind him. Should be relatively easy work to squeeze him between us and take him out. I find a nook behind some crates and bunker down, scoping the field through my rifle irons, and I catch movement. “Dad! On your one!” I crack a shot off and see a telltale blue shimmer. “He’s got shields.” I pop another couple of rounds off. “Shields down, but he moved.”

_“Atta girl. Keep the pressure on ‘im, try to flush him towards me if you can’t take him out.”_

I see him slide into another cover and toss a biotic projectile at our opponent. It’s deflected with what looks like a mirror of Dad’s.

_“Scheiss die Wand an[2]...You see what I see?”_

“Yeah. Biotics and tech. Military, you think?”

_“Or organized and trained merc. Monkey?”_

“Yeah?” I try to keep the man in black in my crosshairs but I lose him.

_“...don’t be a hero. No stupid risks, okay?”_

“Dad…”

The radio is silent and I see Brandon start to sneak to another spot, but he’s compromised. Shots fire and take down his shields, pausing while he’s behind cover and popping in quick succession whenever he tries to move, pinning him down. _Don’t move, baby,_ I silently will at him. The only plus side is that I’m able to trace the rounds back to the man in black armor and I land a shot on his shoulder, returning the favor he paid my boyfriend moments ago. Orange flashes before the man in black hides himself from me. Omni-tool?

I gasp as crackles arc through the air and my weapon overheats, quickly followed by my shields rapidly depleting. That motherfucker… I quickly send a drone with an EMP payload towards him and army crawl to another vantage point, waiting for my rifle to cool. _Fuck._

A small explosion makes me peek over the edge of the half wall and my drone didn’t make it to its target before it became compromised; sparks shower to the ground below in a small fireworks display and I groan to myself, keying another drone up to send out. If nothing else, it’ll distract him and maybe Dad can get the drop on him. 

My next vantage point isn’t the greatest, but it’s serviceable and I can see Brandon was able to move into a small hut-like structure. Good. He can stay there. Dad, on the other hand, is playing cat and mouse with the man in black and it’s frightful how evenly matched they are. For every move Dad makes on him, the dark stranger counters and returns it. 

_“This guy is a fuckin’_ dick,” Dad gripes, shield fizzling and popping as it’s depleted. _“Why the fuck doesn’t he move in for a kill? Jesus_ fuck-” He interrupts himself to send a spray of covering fire from his assault rifle for himself as he dashes from one cover to another, trying to get closer to the mysterious dark figure.

“He’s probably hoping you’ll get mad enough to make a mistake, then he’ll tag you,” I guess, peering out from my own cover. Blue from Brandon’s helmet peeps from its safe area. Thankfully mystery guy has left him alone for the most part. Dad throws a singularity towards the black armor, continuing to saturate the area with his AR, and once again the gravity well is detonated with another spectacular blast from biotics, quickly followed by another EMP that takes Dad’s shields all the way down. The odd part is that he doesn’t appear to follow up any of the shield depletions with anything else. It’s just...annoying.

_“Yeah, well, he can get_ fucked,” Dad snarls back. I don’t say anything; he’s just proving my point and falling into the trap I think is being laid for him. _“He better goddamn hope he takes me out before I get to him. And that it actually isn’t live rounds.”_

It’s interesting how the man in black seems to be almost toying with us. He forces us to cover and doesn’t do anything to follow up. He moves, but it’s slow. Methodical. Counters our attacks, but doesn’t do anything more than that. Unless he’s trying to get us to move… funnel us. Keep us separated. Herd us like sheep. He doesn’t pay me much mind unless he moves and his ass hangs out where I can tag him. Then he focuses on me until I move and he’s relatively hidden from me again. I gasp at the realization. 

“Dad? He’s trying to killbox you.”

_“Yeah, well, he sucks at it.”_  
  


“No, Dad, he doesn’t. He’s separated us _all._ I can’t cover you from here! Brandon’s so far off the map, he may as well be neutralized.”

_“I can move-”_ Brandon cuts in.

_“-NO!”_ Dad and I both yell in almost panic.

“Stay where you are, babe, we gotta figure this out,” I soothe, sounding more confident than I feel. Dad scoffs over the comm. His next words are hard and dangerous. 

_“Make him pop his cover. I’m goin’ hunting.”_ I hear the slide of his pistol cock in my earpiece. I inhale sharply and hold it; that sound is singularly terrifying.

“Daddy...? Please be careful.”

_“Always. Nothin’s been able to take me out yet, and I’m not about to let some fuckin’ hotshot do it in a game, Monkey. You have your orders. Move.”_

I exhale slowly, scouting the field. I see Dad do the same, plotting his next move. He manages to slide on the opposite side of the wall from our opponent. The man in black makes the mistake of letting his foot slip a hair out of cover and it’s all I need. I get a bead on him and nail his foot, obliterating his shield. “SHIELD DOWN, Dad, _GO!”_

Dad pops up and grabs the guy, hauling him over the wall and onto the ground, biotics gathering in his fist as he prepares to smash it into him, but the man in black armor manages to shove Dad with his foot and roll out of the way. Dad recovers quickly and dives behind another half wall as the man fires an EMP at him from his omni-tool, sprinting away.

_“MOTHERfucker!”_ Dad cusses over the comm, firing his pistol at the man before hurling himself after him. I fire a round to the man in black’s left to force him to go right and trap himself in an alcove. _“Aw, bitch, I got you now…”_

I toss a glance to the last known location Brandon had holed up and I see him peering over the bottom of the window, fascinated by the events. Can’t really blame him; it’s one thing to see vids of Dad in the field and promotional propaganda for the Alliance, but it’s another beast entirely to see him in action in real time. 

My attention is yanked back to the ensuing scuffle in the alcove; Dad managed to grab the man in black and they promptly started to slug it out in hand-to-hand. _Oof._ I fight my own rising panic at the sight, trying to steady my breathing and scope in on the escalating brawl, but I can’t get a bead on the man in black; they’re moving too fast. 

Dad finally manages to slam the guy against the full wall, unsheathing his omni-blade.

_“YIELD!_ Mark, MARK, I _yield!”_

The guy in black armor rips his helmet off with one hand and raises the other, both panting heavily. Dad collapses his omni-blade and smashes his fist in the wall next to his opponent, ripping off his own helmet incredulously and cupping Papa’s face, kissing him hard.

“What the _absolute FUCK,_ Kaidan?? What is _wrong_ with you? Do you have ANY idea what I could’ve just _done_ to you? Jesus _fuck,_ Kaid...”

Papa sags on the wall a bit, giving a relieved chuckle as the tension leaks out of his shoulders as Dad fiercely kisses him again. I tap Brandon’s shoulder and start to make our way to where they are. Holy fuck nuggets. 

“I couldn’t get ahold of you guys.”

“What?!”

Papa chuckles again, cupping the back of Dad’s neck a moment before glancing at me and Brandon over Dad’s shoulder, letting his hand drop and taking a step back. “It’s dinner time.”

“You have _got_ to be _kidding_ me, ya _ass.”_ Dad shoves Papa in his shoulder before retrieving their helmets and handing Papa’s to him. “Who the fuck _does_ that?” The score for the match is displayed on the scoreboard above the field, holographic fireworks popping and sparking around it. The crowd cheers wildly at a slow motion video replay they have of Dad’s omni-blade unsheathing while he meets Papa in hand-to-hand during the match. Another burst of catcalls, whistles, and applause erupts when the board replays the moment at the end of the match as Papa rips off his helmet, Dad does the same with a disbelieving look, then kisses him. Dad in real life flips his middle finger at the crowds in response; it only sends another wave of noise through the stands.

“Well, maybe you should answer your omni-tool next time. “ Papa gently shoves Dad back as we make our way to the drop exit mid-arena. Brandon is silent.

“What was it you used to say all the time in the field in the middle of a fight? ‘Not now, Commander!’” Dad nudges his shoulder into Papa’s this time as we walk and Papa rolls his eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah. Way to use my own words against me.” 

“How dare I be the logical one for once.”

“Rude of you. What kind of relationship do you think this is?” Papa teases gently, leaning against the wall of the lift as we descend back into the lockers. 

“Clearly not one built on fuckin’ _trust,_ that’s for damn sure,” Dad snorts. 

“Girls, girls, you’re both pretty,” I cut in. I have to duck at a blind swat Dad throws at me and Papa chuckles. “Could we please get a picture with the four of us? Like this?”

They give each other dubious looks as we get off the elevator, then glance back at me and Brandon. “Sure, I don’t see why not,” Dad shrugs. “Hey, Brandon. Your last name doesn’t happen to be ‘Verner’, does it?”

“No. Why?” A flicker of confusion crosses my boyfriend’s face.

“Eh. You remind me a bit of someone is all.” Dad shrugs again. Papa skillfully hides a snicker behind a cough, gauntleted hand covering his grin, and Dad grins at him slyly. “You alright there, Kaid?”

“Peachy-keen, in your words. That reminds me. I need to respond to that science initiative fundraiser invitation in the next couple of days.”

“Pass.”

“You sure? It’s at the Dilinaga Concert Hall in Tayseri Ward. Rumor has it it’ll be a hanar poetry reading. We could get drinks afterward. Make a night of it.”

Dad’s brow furrows as we arrange ourselves in front of the press photo wall. _“Hard_ pass. I thought that was closed for renovations…?”

“Nah. Took a few years to completely recover from the war, but it’s finally open again. Everyone say ‘dextro safe cheese!’”

The resulting picture is one I will keep as my background for my devices for the foreseeable future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Glossary:_
> 
> [2] Scheiss die Wand an - shit at the wall (literally), shit's hit the fan


	3. The Greatest Challenge: Dinner With the Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They made it through the combat sim. Final obstacle: food.
> 
> May the odds be ever in their favor, hehehehehehe

**_Date Night,_ **by potionsmaster for RachelAMorph54

Rating: M for implied sexual situations and game level violence

* * *

Back home after we’ve freshened up, we’re hanging out in the kitchen on the stools at the island, sipping drinks and watching Dad and Papa finish preparing dinner. It’s cozy and disgustingly ‘normal’ after all the shenanigans in the arena; as much as it _can_ be, anyway. Brandon’s still shellshocked from it. Poor guy.

“...couldn’t see your face; why was your HUD opaque, anyway?” Dad gripes to Papa as he washes the lettuce in the sink. “I wouldn’t have been gunnin’ for you then, if I could’ve fuckin’ _seen_ you. At least we made bank for the charity; particularly with the head-to-head match. 50 thousand credits, damn.”

“It was the style that came with the armor they gave me that I had to use, because _some_ one gave away _my_ armor...” Papa shrugged. He adds garlic to the pan. “Not like I couldn’t see out; it’s the smart glass kind. Filtered out some of the lights. Figured if I liked it, I could find the equivalent in Alliance gear and put in a requisition order for one. I’d like to see if it helps prevent migraines, y’know?”

“There you go again, bein’ logical and shee-it.” Dad hands me a cutting board, a knife, and some cucumbers. “Make yourself useful.”

“I was _plenty_ useful in the arena, thanks,” I quip with a grin, getting to work.

“You were. More so than you usually are,” he winks as he gets out some carrots from the fridge and washes them. “Almost like you were tryin’ to impress someone…” He gives a pointed look while handing a different cutting board and knife to my boyfriend along with the carrots. Both my ears and Brandon’s turn pink.

“Yeah, you definitely kept me on my toes, Cassie,” Papa broke in. “I wasn’t sure I’d be able to keep up with you all.”

“HM, I wonder WHY,” Dad snorts, hip checking him before moving to the other side and getting a salad bowl down from the cabinet. 

“Wait… what are you insinuating?” Papa pauses, the pan in front of him sizzling. It smells delicious; I haven’t had a good steak in a long time. Brandon bumps his knee into mine.

“Not insinuatin’ anything. Flat out tellin’ you. You’re gettin’ old, Kaid. Can’t keep up with us younguns anymore,” Dad teases.

“Bullshit,” Papa retorts, brows furrowed as he flips the steak. “You’re old, then, too, if I am and you want to get technical. You better watch it. I’ll make your steak medium well, since old men shouldn’t have rare meat.” 

“How _dare,_ sir. Blasphemy.” Dad shakes the salad tongs at him threateningly. “I am younger’n _you,_ and that’s all that matters.”

“Yeah, by what, a whole year? And less than a month in change?” Papa scoffs. “Pff. Please. You act like I’m geriatric some days, I swear.”

“Your _mind_ is, if you’re threatenin’ to ruin steak like that. What did it ever do to you for that kind of treatment? That falls under ‘cruel and unusual punishment’.”

I try to stifle my giggles and Brandon glances at me, incredulous. 

“They’re _nuts,”_ he whispers to me behind a hand. Dad points the salad tongs behind himself at Brandon without even looking.

“Now you see where she gets it from,” he states mildly. “Though what does that say about _you_ that you chose to get mixed up with her, and by proxy, _us,_ if we’re all nutsos?”

Brandon sits up straight, eyebrows disappearing into his hairline and I can’t help but laugh. “Sorry, sir! No offense meant!”

“He’s just yanking your chain, Brandon, relax,” Papa huffs in amusement, transferring the meat to a plate and setting it off to the side to rest before putting on another couple of steaks. “And showing off just a bit.”

“Me? Naw. Never,” Dad winks at me over his shoulder and hands me the salad bowl with lettuce and tomato in it. “Add your rabbit food, please. And then set the table.” I laugh again, dumping the sliced cucumbers and carrots into the bowl. “What I’m curious about is how the hell did that match even get to happen in the first place. Did you do some kind of techy-tech voodoo that you do so well?” 

“You didn’t read your email Armax sent, did you? With the new game option?” Papa asks, focusing on the meat in the pan.

“Is it a dead giveaway if I ask ‘what email’?”

“We had one in our team inbox that said head-to-head matches were now available against other live players and if you didn’t want to participate, you needed to respond to opt out.” Papa’s words are matter of fact as he flips the steaks.

“Well, fuck me sideways, heh. _That_ email. I must’ve breezed past it.” Dad places a pile of plates, flatware, and napkins next to the platter with the beef already resting on it and moves to the oven, carefully pulling out the baked potatoes. 

“Mmhm,” Papa chuckles, “I figured as much. Especially since I _was_ able to opt in at the last minute. Sorry again for that, by the way.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute. All’s forgiven. Maybe we should do it again to get another big boost for the charity.”

Brandon grabs the plates and we go to the dining room, leaving them to discuss financials and boring things. He glances over his shoulder at my parents before giving me a quick kiss. My ears turn hot at the tips and I can’t help the grin spreading over my face.

“...what’s that for?” I ask, folding the napkins and placing the flatware on them.

“Just because,” he replies softly with a grin.

Mrs. Hudson floats past us, moving to the kitchen. _“Shall I resume the playlist from earlier to set the mood for dinner?”_

“Sure,” Papa responds, bringing out the platter of steaks, “that’d be ni-”

_“-NO!”_

Dad, Brandon, and I all yell it in tandem, making Papa pause with a confused look on his face. 

“Orrr not,’ he says, blinking as he places the food on the table. 

“I’d rather just… _talk,_ y’know?” The words tumble out of my mouth. “Let you guys get to know each other…”

Dad slides the dish of baked potatoes next to the steaks. “I’ll tell you later,” he mutters to Papa. 

* * *

  
  
  


“Does anybody want anythin’ for dessert?” Dad goes into the fridge after dinner and pulls out a can of whipped cream.

“Don’t…” Papa says, tired. 

“I’m biotic, Kaid,” Dad says slyly before tipping his head back and squirting a shot of whipped cream directly in his mouth. “I need the calories. Doctor’s orders.” The words are muffled as he tries to talk around the mouthful. I immediately push away from the table and Brandon gives me a questioning look.

“Uh-huh. There are other, better ways you could do that, y’know, instead of being a total heathen about it,” Papa retorts, gathering the used plates and flatware in a pile. 

“You’re not wrong,” Dad grins, the faint scars on the left side of his face pulling a bit. “But they’re also not as _fun._ Right, Monkey?” He squirts another pile in his mouth and holds out the can for me. I scamper to his side, opening my mouth. It’s been a while since we’ve done this, and I’m more excited for it than I want to admit.

Papa rolls his eyes at us as he walks the dirty place settings to the kitchen and stacks them in the sink. Creamy sweetness spreads over my tongue and Dad does what he’s always done since I was little, over-filling my mouth with the treat and spritzing a small dollop on the tip of my nose as a ‘snack for later’, he called it. I giggle uncontrollably at the ridiculousness of it all, unable to close my mouth without some whipped cream escaping and making a bigger mess on my face than is already there. Brandon chuckles as he brings the rest of the dishes from the table. 

“I say again,” he laughs, “You’re all nuts.”

“I mean, if you want some yourself, Brandon, all you gotta do to ask is come over here and open your mouth,” Dad jokes, holding out the can in offering. 

“Should I be worried that you called me ‘old’ earlier and now you’re offering to put whipped cream in a younger man’s mouth?” Papa murmurs to Dad, putting a hand on his shoulder and leaning in. Dad snorts and drags his middle and ring fingers across his bottom lip to wipe residual cream off his mouth before swiping it on Papa’s face. _“Hey!”_

“I don’t think you have anythin’ to worry about, Kaid,” Dad replies suggestively. “Nice to see you in action in the arena earlier today. It was… pretty hot.” 

“I say again,” Papa grumbles, hiding a grin as he wipes the whipped cream off his cheek. “Heathen.” 

“Ayuh, and you’re stuck with me. _Forever,”_ Dad agrees, wiggling his ring finger to show off the wedding band. “You did it to yourself, y’know.”

“Oh, darn,” comes the lighthearted reply. “What _ever_ will I do.” 

“Take it outside?” I suggest, grabbing the can of whipped cream and taking another shot myself before putting it back in the fridge. “You guys are being gross again.”

“How about not,” Dad snorts, snapping a dish towel at me. I shriek and scoot out of the way. “My house, my rules. I will be ‘gross’ wherever I damn well want. Now get outta my kitchen.”

Brandon and I get out of his kitchen.

* * *

  
  


After dinner, Brandon’s distracted by watching whatever’s on the vid screen over the fireplace, and I’m curled up on the couch with a blanket and a datapad, rereading some of my favorite journal entries of my mother’s; I like the ones she has that talk about life between the three of us when I was younger. Dad and Papa are murmuring in the kitchen as they clean up and it’s soothing. My eyes drift shut; I’m dead tired from the day of traveling and the excitement in the arena earlier. 

“...scared the piss outta me, y’know,” Dad gripes softly. Papa chuckles, low and almost raspy.

“Sorry. Best I could think of at short notice.”

_“Es tut mir leid[3]._ I could’ve seriously hurt you, and that would’ve destroyed me, Kaid.” I blink my eyes open at that, resting my head on the back of the couch and rolling it to the side to watch them. Papa’s standing at the sink, washing a couple of pots and pans, and Dad’s standing behind him, chin resting on his shoulder and dish towel tucked into his waistband, arms around Papa’s middle. He must’ve really been worried; even though they’re more affectionate in the house than they are in public, Dad rarely is that up close and personal with him in front of me. 

“But you didn’t, and that was the risk I knew I was taking when I did it, babe. Stop trying to take on the responsibilities of the galaxy. Again. Besides…” Papa reassures him, “It was fun. Maybe we should go head-to-head more often. Raise some more money for the charities. Y’know?”

Dad closes his eyes and sighs deeply, tension dropping out of his shoulders as he nuzzles Papa’s neck. “Can think of another thing I’d like to go ‘head-to-head’ with you on…” He tightens his arms around Papa and places a kiss on the nape of his neck. I see Papa’s ears tip pink as he tilts his head to the side and cuddles back into Dad’s arms at it. I roll my eyes and glance at Brandon. Thankfully, he’s still engrossed in the vid.

“Of course you can. Heathen,” Papa murmurs, placing the dishes on the drying rack.

“God, it was so fuckin’ awful earlier today.”

“Why?”

“D’you know what happened?”

“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me,” Papa huffs in amusement. 

“Boy howdy,” Dad snorts, nipping at his ear. “Picture this: I’m out, gettin’ supplies for dinner tonight, and I come home, and our _playlist_ is playin’, all throughout the place. I’m thinkin’ you got home early and had _ideas_ and the songs are far enough along so that I’m _also_ thinkin’ you probably already got started. Follow me so far?”

“Oh _no…”_

“Ah-yuh. So, I’m takin’ _my_ happy ass upstairs, callin’ out to _you,_ tryin’ to see where _you_ were at so I could ‘catch up’, and right when I get there and am about to take off my shirt, guess who I see comin’ out of our closet.”

Papa snorts and turns around to face Dad, resting his hands on Dad’s hips. “Oh, _no,_ tell me they didn’t _…”_

Dad’s cheeks are a bit flushed again and he rubs the tips of their noses together. _“Oh,_ yes. They did. Wearin’ half my dress mess, while they were at it."

“Wait…” Papa draws back a little. “Were _they…?_ In _our_ closet? Why wouldn’t they-”

_“-No,_ Kaid. _God,_ no. Or at least… I _hope_ they didn’t. She’s got her own damn bedroom for that. _Yick.”_

I practically stuff my fist in my mouth to keep from laughing; at least we all seem to have the same reaction to the same idea about each other. Dad continues on.

“Yeah, so, that was nice and awkward. And frustratin’ as shit; got all worked up with no outlet.” He rubbed the tips of their noses again, fingers tightening on Papa’s waistband. 

“That didn’t get bled out in the arena?” Papa teases gently, tilting his head to the side with a coy grin. “You were going pretty hard, there.”

“I mean, it wasn’t exactly an accident I took ‘em there, seein’ as I had _energy_ to burn off, but it was workin’ alright until _some_ one threw in and kicked up the adrenaline again. Ass,” Dad murmurs affectionately, pressing their foreheads together again, eyes closed. Papa kisses him softly, and it’s sweet to see, much as I roll my eyes at it.

“Sorry,” he says, clearly not sorry at all, then drops his voice a little. “They’ve gotta sleep sometime tonight, though.” 

I stifle a groan and hunker down a little more on the couch. Of fucking course. I could have lived happily without hearing that, but oh well. It’s not like it was unexpected, either.

“Mmhm. That they do.” Dad blinks his eyes open and pauses. “Hey. Mrs. Hudson. Make playlist ‘Date Night’ private, please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU DO MUCH FOR READING THIS ABSOLUTELY RIDICULOUS STORY!! HAPPY HOLIDAYS! may the coming days bring you peace and happiness, and I hope this story brought a small bit of silliness to help you forget the outside world, even if it was just for a little bit.
> 
> _Glossary:_
> 
> [3]Es tut mir leid - I'm sorry


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